“Get thy sweater and come out, little sister. Thee doesn’t know this night air,” laughed Mr. Benjamin.
So in the end Peggy allowed herself to be persuaded, and went along.
“Silly, spoiled little minx,” commented Mr. Benjamin.
“Oh, we’ll soon manage her, my dear, but what about this smouldering Isabelle with her old eyes?” sighed his wife.
He patted her hand.
“I leave her to thee, my Phœbe.”
Outside the moon rode high, the air was crisp and sweet, the silence unbroken save for the shouts of the girls. The leaves were piled in a huge mound, in a cleared space some distance from the house. They set a match to it, and the flames leapt hungry and fierce. The girls formed a circle and danced around it, singing. Mr. Benjamin stopped a second on his way to the barn, and called a warning about whirling skirts as he went on.
The circle broke into dancing pairs. Some one started leap frog. Isabelle forgot everything except that she was having a good time. There were friendliness and joy and freedom. She drank of them to the full. She played wildly, excitedly. She began to lead in the games. Even Peggy forgot her rôle and joined in.
The flames were lower now, and with a sudden running leap Isabelle jumped over them. Without hesitation the whole line followed—all except Peggy, who held back.
“Come on, Peggy, don’t be a ’fraid-cat!” shouted Isabelle.